A Parthan Summer by Julie Steimle (best books for 8th graders TXT) 📖

your name?” They demanded over and over again.

“Jeff Streigle,” he continued to say, just as he had memorized it years ago.

Cursing under his breath, Agent Powell started again. “Wrong answer. What is your name?”

“Jafarr,” Jeff scratched out at last, feeling so tired as he was breathing hard in an attempt to keep control of his thoughts. Sweat drizzled off his forehead.

“Jafarr what?”

But Jeff did not respond.

“Where are you from?” Agent Powell continued his drill. 

Coach Brown watched with an intense frown upon his face. Jeff was stronger than he had anticipated. The boy pushed against those holding him down, still struggling to rise off the floor. It was freaky how willful he was.

“Where are you—?”

“Leave us alone…” Jeff gasped. “I…I…I have to protect Zormna.”

Though it wasn’t the answer to their question, it was as sign Jeff was finally starting to give in to the drug.

“Why?” the agent pressed.

“She’s in danger.” Jeff groaned, straining to keep focus. “They’ll kill her if they find out…they’ll—” Jeff collapsed against the floor, unable to resist the chemicals that course through his body. Tears ran down his cheeks. “Please…please stop. She’s important….”

“What are you?” Agent Simms asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m human,” Jeff muttered. “I just want freedom…”

“Cryptic,” a watching agent remarked. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even with her. That is some sense of will.”

Jeff lay on the floor without fighting now. His muscles ached, and he was tired of caring. It hurt to fight. He was still afraid he would say too much. The only thing he knew now was to pray. “…Pomog’om eme eez chanf’ova’ova ee llgor’nel. Em verr’troi’-om van Neem, O’ Lla’bor Strravra sru em’es dooenee.”[1]

“Did you get that?” Powell asked the agent behind him. 

The man nodded, holding his earpiece carefully to his ear.

“Now all we have to do is translate it,” a skeptical voice retorted from the back.

Starting again, the agent addressed him, “Jafarr.”

“Call me Jeff!” Jeff snapped automatically. He had gone delirious, his mind slipping into dream. “I swear if you don’t quit calling me Jafarr then I am never going to have any peace.”

Powell shook his head and tried again, “Jafarr, why do you have to protect Zormna?”

“Rats!” Jeff moaned. 

A few of the agents jumped. A couple of them looked around at the floor, thinking Jeff had seen one.

“They think we are rats….”

The agents shared confused looks.

But Jeff kept muttering. “The P.M.s will kill her. Those murderers… High Class scum. They just kill… They just kill…”

“Who did they kill?” whispered Agent Powell.

Jeff weakly breathed. “My father.”

“How did you end up with the Streigle family?” Agent Powell asked.

Barely conscious, Jeff said, “Al…my friend…”

The agents sighed, then ticked another thing off their list of questions.

“What about that old woman, Asiah Clendar?”

“I don’t know her…” Jeff muttered. “Never met…”

“Do you know who killed her?” the agent asked.

Jeff breathed heavily. It took a while before he said, “No. But it was probably…Tarrn haters.”

The agents ticked that off their list.

“What is a Tarrn?”

Jeff chuckled.

“What is a Tarrn, Jafarr?” Agent Powell asked.

Sighing, Jeff chuckled again. In truth, it was almost impossible for him to formulate an answer, as being a Tarrn was complicated. So many things floated to his thoughts: Distant family. Lost royalty. Saviors of his people. A cursed lineage. But only word slipped out, which is what he actually thought about them. “Sad.”

“Sad?” the agent looked to the others. “Why sad?”

“There will soon be none left,” Jeff murmured. “And they are so afraid.”

“She’s an endangered species,” an agent noted out loud, at least what he comprehended.

“Hunted,” Jeff murmured.

 They stared.

“And why do you want to protect her?” Agent Powell asked.

Jeff could hardly keep his eyes open. “I promised.”

“Who did you promise?” Agent Powell asked.

But Jeff was out. He had lost consciousness and was slipping deeper into sleep.

“Jafarr. Jafarr….” the agent repeated, but it was too late. Jeff could barely hear his name, unable to react.

Agent Powell looked up from their captive and turned to Coach Brown. “I need more time. There is too much resistance right now. I need time to break him.”

Coach Brown shook his head. “Agent Sicamore said to be brief. His orders were specific. Get what you can now and wait. We now know for certain that he is one of them. The next phase is to keep track of him.”

“Like with the girl?” Agent Powell asked irritably. “Why not just pick him up and take him to a facility? He has no family.”

Coach Brown looked down at the unconscious boy. “Technically, he does. Though his documents are forged, they are also in the system. Whoever helped him didn’t just make papers. They made a living paper trail that makes it appear that he was born and grew up in Missouri. Someone connected to him is an experienced computer hacker, the likes of which we have never seen before. Besides, we have no real evidence that will hold in a courtroom. Sicamore said to find factual evidence, and this boy’s babbling under the influence of sodium pentothal isn’t admissible.

“Besides, I don’t think Jeff, or Jafarr is going anywhere.” The agent shook his head. “That boy had every opportunity to escape today, but he stuck around. He stayed on purpose. He knew we were coming, and he knew we would question him.” 

Coach Brown walked around Jeff’s body. He crouched down, wondering at Jeff’s scarred face as he felt for the boy’s pulse. It was slow and going slower. He nodded for the agents to deliver a counter serum to clear his blood from the drug. “What would make a person stay and protect someone he obviously has personal issues with? Who did he promise?” 

All the federal agents peered down at the boy.

*

Zormna stepped back from the door when the office opened. The agents almost flinched when faced with her glaring green eyes. But they stepped out, carrying their equipment back to their vehicle without a word. Mr. Hardt hurried next to her, mostly to keep her out of trouble. He had been pacing outside his office door. And when it had opened, he had jumped, rubbing his hands nervously. “Please, what is going on? Where is the boy?”

Coach Brown with Agents Palmer and Powell drew him aside with looks to Zormna who was standing near the doorway, clenching her head against a headache. Coach Brown said, “We’re leaving him back in your charge. We now have the information we needed. But you cannot let this boy out of your sight.”

“What?” Mr. Hardt blanched.

“That is,” Coach Brown blushed apologetically, “He is staying in camp. We need to keep tabs on him.”

That moment, four more agents carried Jeff’s unconscious body out of the door. The ones ahead of the rest scanned the gravel parking lot to make sure it was clear of watching eyes. But they really needn’t have bothered. Everyone else was at the lake. The four suited men marched directly to the infirmary, carrying the limp boy. His dark head hung back lifelessly, his face damp and pale.

“Jafarr!” Zormna ran after them, shoving an agent aside as she reached for Jeff’s pale hand to feel his pulse. When sure he was alive, she wrapped her fingers in his and would not let go.

“We would like you to maintain the story that he passed out from heat exhaustion,” the undercover agent said.

Mr. Hardt swallowed, but nodded—if only in fear. He stood back, watching as the federal agents carried Jeff across the campground with Zormna clinging to his hand while jogging alongside the other agents. She looked like she wanted to beat them all off, though.

“Who is she?”

Sighing, the agents shared looks. “That really is the question, isn’t it?”

“And who…who is he?” Mr. Hardt asked.

Shrugging, Agent Powell said, “Unfortunately, we don’t really know that either. We only know that his real name is Jafarr, and that everything else about him is a lie.”

“And you can tell me this?” Mr. Hardt stared up at them.

The agents nodded. “It is not critical to national security. But we do need you to allow us to still keep watch on them.”

Mr. Hardt nodded, though he was sure he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

*

Jeff blinked his eyes open. Every muscle and joint ached in his body. He tried to sit up slowly—but then the last hour jumped back to the forefront of his memory and he lurched erect, panting.

He stared first at the infirmary walls, then at the infirmary cot that he was in. Zormna sat on a near by chair with her head in her hands, rocking slightly.

“Are you ok?” he asked her.

Zormna jerked her head up. Fixing her eyes on him, which were bloodshot from crying, she stared. Her family medallion hung out of her shirt. She had been holding it, tracing each circle with her finger.

Grabbing at the medallion, he almost screamed, “Put that back in! Are you crazy?”

Zormna pulled away, tucking it in herself. “I should be asking you that.” She wiped her nose with her wrist, sniffing to clear her tears.

“That isn’t sanitary,” Jeff said, watching her.

“Why did you stay?” She stared at him, shaking her head. “The great escape artist, and you didn’t run away. Why?”

Jeff swallowed, everting his eyes to the gray wool blanket that covered him.

“When I saw them carry your body out I thought they had killed you.” Tears dribbled down her face. He had never ever envisioned that she would cry for him.

“Well, I’m not dead,” he said.

She groaned. “Jafarr… please. I know we are barely friends. And you are still angry with me about the past. And logically, I understand you are devoted to your cause. But is this really something you want to die for? I mean…you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jeff muttered.

“Yes, you do, or you would have forgiven me for breaking your nose, or for stopping you all those seven times….” Zormna let her voice trail off, realizing how much she had opposed him. Clearing her throat, she asked, “I’m not a savior, you know. I’m not perfect like that man was. And I don’t care about being royalty. That was stupid to begin with. So…don’t throw your life away for me.”

Jeff stared. It was like looking at her in their dreams. In the life that he knew Zormna, she had seemed like the strong, arrogant and fearless soldier. But in the dreams she had been fragile and scared.

He said, “I’m not throwing my life away. Zormna, this is my life. I was born to protect the last Tarrn—no matter how imperfect she is, or how stubborn she is, or how much she blows me away with how amazing she is.”

Zormna stared.

“We’re in this together,” he said, and took her hand. His fingers felt warm. “And I don’t think Zeldar came to visit us in our dreams because he was bored and decided to mess with his descendants. We have a job to do. And I think it is about time that we learned to get along.”

She looked to her knees.

“So, I’m not going to ditch you any more than you did not ditch me on that hike,” he said. “Ok?”

Zormna nodded, though she murmured, “But I can’t save the world…”

Jeff grinned at her. “Not by yourself, no. I told you. We’re in this together.”

She laughed, nodding again. Though it was clear she still thought they were both deficient for such a task.

Eventually, Jeff leaned back in his cot and murmured, “I am a little worried, though, about what they got out of me. I don’t…you know, exactly recall what I said.”

Zormna drew in a deep breath. She peeked at him. “I listened at the door.”

Jeff waited.

Scratching her forehead, Zormna shrugged. “Don’t worry too much. They don’t know much more except that you are not connected with my great aunt’s death, that you are trying to protect me, and that you know a lot of songs about weird men with strange names.”

Jeff laughed.

 

[1] Save us from darkness and evil. We believe in You, Oh Great Creator of our